


17 Minutes and 23 Seconds Past Somewhen

by Nope



Category: The Invisibles
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-08
Updated: 2003-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: A night on the town.





	17 Minutes and 23 Seconds Past Somewhen

Too late for night, too early for morning. Somewhere between, London breathes exhaust fumes, urine and cool, crisp air. Breathes slow, breathes steady, breathes shallow. Half sleeping breaths. In and out. In and out. In and--  
  
   
  
 _What time is it?_  
  
   
  
"What it is," says Gideon, "what it is, see--"  
  
Helga starts laughing.  
  
"I hate London," says Dane looking up. "There's too many stars and you can't see the lights." He's forgotten he's wearing Fanny's wig and keeps waving a hand at the loose strands, batting at invisible insects.  
  
"What it is--" and Gideon's laughing too, head pressed against Fanny's silicon and latex tits. Fanny pats his scorpion tat.  
  
"I fucken hate London," repeats Dane and kicks his empty can as hard as possible.  
  
   
  
They're building something over the banking district, cranes stretched around a half finished black alien bullet. A single light flashes from it. Single is an anagram of signal, if you change a letter.  
  
   
  
"It's all true and it's all lies!" crows Gideon, bounding up the steps to St Paul's in his leather trench and trousers and nothing else, brandishing his nipple rings at a graffiti angel. "Put on your fiction suits, brothers and sisters and brothersisters! We're gonna immanentize the fucking eschaton! An! Ar! Chy! An! Ar! Chy!"  
  
"An arse key," grins Helga magnanimously. They clink bottles again.  
  
"I don' wanna immanentize shit," says Dane, pouting. "I wanna fucken kebab, me."  
  
   
  
 _What time is_  
  
   
  
"Why are we all talking like this? Like we're in a movie?"  
  
"It **is** a movie, darling! Haven't you noticed?"  
  
"Yeah, you're a right Rita fucking Hayworth you are."  
  
"Why, thank you! You, of course, are clearly Michael Caine--"  
  
"Not a lot of people know that," chorus Gideon and Helga and clink their bottles together.  
  
"--you're Liv Tyler or possibly Bonnie Langford--"  
  
"Fuck you, Fanny!"  
  
"--and you, Gideon, you're..."  
  
"A younger prettier Sean Connery! Bring me shome boysh!"  
  
   
  
They stare at St Paul's until the bells start ringing, then run away.  
  
   
  
The can smashes a limo window.  
  
"Fuuuuuuck," yells Dane.  
  
"Run for it!"  
  
They do, Gideon whooping "we are the boys! We are the boys," Fanny's heels clacking on the pavement, Helga still fucking laughing. A black taxi chases them across Piccadilly but is scared off by pigeons.  
  
Sirens sing across Soho under star shine.  
  
   
  
 _time is it_  
  
   
  
"Everything's orange. And purple. Orange and--"  
  
"It's the street eyes, darling. All of London staring up at they sky."  
  
"Orange and-- Orange is for-- no, wait, blue is for madness, orange is for anguish. Or is it--?"  
  
"Sky looks fucking grey to me, man."  
  
"That's the pavement, you nob. Look up man, look up!"  
  
"What it is," says Gideon, "what it is, see--"  
  
   
  
"--it's, god, it's full of stars, the river's full of--"  
  
   
  
"Millennium bridge," says Helga and Gideon hums a little ditty from where he and Fanny are dancing cheek to cheek, and Fanny says "I came here when it was still swaying" and Dane asks "Don't they arrest you for doing that in public?" and stares blankly as the others all start laughing, a puzzled smile just twitching at his lips.  
  
   
  
 _Is it time?_  
  
   
  
"Do you ever have that thing where you've been drinking all night and it's at the point where the everything's slowed to a balance, trembling on a fucking needle and all it needs is the smallest breath to send the sky darker or brighter, to start everything rushing again, forwards or backwards, but right now and here it's all so calm and poised and clear, like you're just a sketch in space and the whole universe is inside and outside and everything's so. fucking. clear. like the world's holding its breath and if you said the right word you could make everything unfold forever?"  
  
   
  
Helga and Fanny are arguing about whether the kebabs count as breakfast when (a) they haven't gone to bed yet and (b) the sun won't be up for hours.  
  
Gideon's saying, "what it is, right, it's like a comic, see, the past is in the frames over there, and the future is down there or, or, over the page, and it's like, we're all stuck in these little boxes, these little frames, but if we could move up, move away from the page, move in that direction which is _other_ we could see the whole of space and time in one go, see? The whole enchilada!"  
  
"Fuck yeah," says Dane, all greasy fingers and slobber and sucking on a kebab. "I could murder some Mexican. Extra spicy, yeah?"  
  
   
  
Fanny holds the wig away from Dane's face. Dane's puking into the Thames, laughing and puking and maybe crying a little. When he's done, Fanny wipes his face and leans in and licks his lips with hir tongue.  
  
"Sweet as pie," says Fanny.  
  
So that's all right then.  
  
   
  
 _time_  
  
   
  
\--out.


End file.
